The Stalker
by Queen of Zan
Summary: When the drought in Privet Drive bores a girl to tears, she decides to stalk someone in her neighborhood. This is the story of Monica, a sixteen year-old girl who stalks Harry Potter, and what happens when Tonks gets happy.
1. The Chapter in Which There is This Girl

A/N: And you all thought I was dead. OotP spoilers, sort of. Nothing major, I think…oh, wait, there it…no, no, false alarm…But come on, people, after a year, you have no excuse for not reading it. Libraries carry it, for Pete's sake! And who is this "Pete" that everyone is always talking about?

Disclaimer: If I owned any of the weird stuff I'm about to type and/or use, I wouldn't be typing it, now would I? I'd be doing something fun with my oodles of money, now, wouldn't I?

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The Stalker

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One day, amidst a horrible storm, a baby was born. Now, this baby was not any of the characters you may or may not be familiar with, because it's just something that has absolutely nothing to do with the real story.

The _real_ story takes place one fine summer day during a drought. In this particularly hot and dry summer, a girl decided that she should take to stalking someone in her small neighborhood of Lyon Heights in her small town of Little Whinging in her not-so small country of England. Now, when this girl decided to stalk someone, she decided to do it blatantly and obviously, meaning that no-one would notice, because she lived in a neighborhood of Muggles, and everyone knows that Muggles pay absolutely horrid attention and "never notice nuffink". I can only hope, for your sake, that you _do_ know what a Muggle is, because if you don't, I may well kill you for your lack of Canon knowledge, only not, because that would tip off the government as to where my location is. Ahem, anyway, you may wonder what the hell this girl was doing in Little Whinging if she knows what Muggles are. As you should know if you are an obsessive fan, a Ministry official clearly states that no other witches or wizards live in Little Whinging. Well, as this girl would most assuredly tell you, people say all sorts of things when they think you're not listening, and this girl was a very good listener.

Now, as I can tell that you're getting faintly annoyed at me continuously referring to the girl this story is about as "this girl", I'm going to tell you a little about her. So, you will now find out, among other things, her name, so that I can stop the annoying habit of calling this girl "this girl". This girl was a rather tall, with long legs, girl. Her muddy-brown eyes had a sort of look that gave people the impression that she was mentally unstable. Her board-straight reddish-brown hair came down past her shoulders, ending about a quarter of the way down her back. She had the unnerving habit of having short, blond eyelashes, which really isn't a habit at all, and more of a physical trait. This rather odd, deranged-looking girl wore very normal clothes for her age, solid colored t-shirts in normal colors and blue jeans in varying degrees of barely-fitting bagginess. This girl, as you have probably already inferred, has a name. This name of hers, that you all must be terribly anxious about, is an oddly normal name. It's Monica. That's right, this girl's name is Monica. Don't blame me, blame her parents.

Anyway, Monica had decided the previous summer to stalk someone over the next summer vacation. You see, what with the drought and all, Monica had gotten very bored. So, she had decided to entertain herself. Unfortunately for an unlucky boy, her idea of entertainment was stalking someone. Three guesses for what unlucky boy I'm talking about….

Harry Potter, a scrawny beanpole of a boy with messy jet-black hair and eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad, lie on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling of his small bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive. You all know the story, I'm not about to relate it. He had no idea that, at this very moment, a girl who looked like an asylum resident was deciding to stalk him.

In fact, Monica was, at that moment, hidden in the leaves of the willow tree in the front yard, looking at him, or the only part of him she could see, the knee that was bent as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, etc., etc.

Now, because Monica had decided to stalk him as blatantly and obviously as possible, none of the residents of Privet Drive even noticed that a deranged-looking girl was sitting in the willow tree in the Dursley's front yard, nor that she was blatantly and obviously stalking the dangerous Potter boy.

You may ask, what the crap is Monica doing, stalking the publicly known dangerous boy in the neighborhood. Well, as with the whole Muggle issue, Monica had listened very carefully to all the gossip and people that she might stalk. From the talk she'd heard (and the eaves she'd dropped) she'd determined that not only was he not dangerous, he would be the most interesting to stalk, _and_ he'd be the most fun to stalk and/or freak out.

Well, Harry Potter was also a wizard, but one: you already knew that, and two: Monica did _not_ know that, so it hadn't influenced her decision and was a completely superfluous thing for me to mention. (look it up)

Monica settled into her treetop seat. Judging form how much he'd moved in the past half hour, she was going to be there a while before he did anything worth watching.

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A/N: Now, wasn't that fun? Don't worry, I'll do some more soon. And by soon, I mean sooner than my other stories get up. And, hey, that'll all be in one big lump! We all win!

Please review, I can use feedback of all kinds, even negative, though _that _kind of feedback will be fed back to the sender. Thank you and have a nice life!


	2. The Chapter in Which There is a Sandwich

Disclaimer: As much as I would love to, I do not own any of the Harry Potter universe. Anything that you don't recognize is probably made up, unless, of course, this isn't your fandom. In that case, leave. Also, I would never claim that what I am writing is what J.K. will publish, and if, by some ridiculously strange and twisted twist of fate, she _does _publish this, or something similar, I'll sue _her _for plagiarism! J.K., if you're reading this, I love you.

A/N: Time for another installment of this story, sponsored by the universal muse, Boredom. Let's all give it up for Boredom, because without him, I would update even less than I already do.

And, in case you're wondering, Monica is loosely based off of someone I know, sadly enough. Monica Delarosa, this is for you!

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Monica, as last we saw her, had settled down in the tree in the Dursley's front yard, waiting for Harry Potter, her stalk-ee, to do something worth watching. Two hours later, she was still there. He'd moved his leg twice, and, as far as she could hear, had yawned once. Yet Monica still sat there, waiting, waiting, ever waiting, for the "dangerous Potter boy" to do…_something_. Monica didn't mind the waiting so much; she was very patient, and besides, it gave her something to do.

For, you see, while she was sitting in that poor, dying willow tree, she wasn't only staring at Harry. Oh no, she was _thinking._ The serious, deep type of thinking that psychologists and inventors do. Unfortunately, Monica wasn't pondering something particularly useful, like what the meaning of life was (she already knew that), or why people said Harry Potter was dangerous when he clearly wasn't. She wasn't thinking about whether there was life on other planets, she wasn't trying to figure out why there never seemed to be the right kind of batteries when you needed them. Wondering about where the hell socks go when they disappear out of the dryer? Not her (not right then, anyway). What was this not-so-deep thing she was thinking so deeply about?

At that very moment, this girl, this girl that looked as if she belonged in an asylum, as if she might someday crack and bring a gun to school, this girl called Monica, was thinking very intently about how any person her age could sit so annoyingly still for that length of time. She had, herself, moved a whole lot more in the past two hours than she had. He wasn't asleep, that much she knew. How she knew, she didn't know. But he wasn't asleep, and he had stayed so impeccably still that it was slowly driving her mad.

Just then, a loud booming noise startled her. She nearly fell out of the tree before she realized that it was merely Harry's uncle knocking on the door.

"Come in," Harry called dissolutely. The door opened, and Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, squeezed through the door. But not, Monica observed, with as much difficulty as Dudley, Harry's cousin, the neighborhood gang-leader, would have had.

"Boy, we're going out," the beefy man with practically no neck, known as Vernon Dursley, told his nephew. But the man didn't act as if Harry were his nephew; indeed, he acted as if he were an annoying house guest he couldn't get rid of, but was forced to put up with. Interestingly enough, what Monica didn't know was that this wasn't far from the truth.

"Alright," Harry said flatly to his uncle. "You're taking Aunt Petunia and Dudley, too, right?" He said it more as a statement than a question.

"Yes," Vernon said. He turned to leave, then said, "Have you written to those…_friends _of yours lately?"

Harry sighed. "Yes," he said. "I wrote them yesterday. If you cared to look, you'd see that Hedwig was still gone."

Vernon looked irritated. Annoyed at the boy's insolence, Monica supposed. _Wait, who's Hedwig?_ she thought, confused, as Vernon said to Harry, "Alright then. We'll be back before ten. Don't—I mean, you'll have to fix your own dinner. Don't burn down the house, hear me?" he warned as he turned to leave once more.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry replied from his bed as Vernon stopped, turned around, looked straight at the barely-hidden Monica, then shook his head and left the room, closing the door so firmly it was very nearly a slam.

Monica heard Harry sigh. Annoyed at herself, she studied his room more closely. She berated herself for not looking more closely. She'd be a horrible stalker if she didn't get it together and continued on like this!

At first glance, Harry's room was normal. A bit small, but relatively normal. On the second look, you could see that there was an owl cage in the corner of the room, the desk was littered with parchment, and robes spilled out of the trunk at the foot of the bed. A third, closer glance revealed that the books scattered in various places around the room had odd titles, like _Quidditch Through the Ages, A Guide to Magical Fruit, Maladies That Can Be Cured Only In Rare Instances, _and a large, Encyclopedia Britannica-sized book titled _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix._

Man, Monica thought, _he sure is self-centered. Probably bought it because he thought it was about him. Oh well. At least I'm finding stuff out, and isn't that why I'm doing this? _she asked herself. Monica looked more closely at the book and discovered that the title was not _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, _but _The Roof is Rotten, How Do I Fix It? (A guide to magical repair). _Realization that she needed to go to an eye doctor hit her like an ice cream truck.

Just then, Harry got up from his bed. Monica quickly shook herself out of her mental conversation and watched closely. He didn't do anything particularly exciting; he just left the room and returned a few minutes later, a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Not very exciting at all. Monica sighed. This was going to take some getting used to, apparently.

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A/N: The end of another chapter, still too short to do anyone any real good. I would like to extend my thanks to everyone who has already reviewed, and very _subtly _hint to those who _haven't _reviewed yet that I really like it when people _do _review. And, as my special way of showing this, I would like to dedicate a song to reviews and that magical, mystical, shiny little button at the bottom of the screen:

I've got sunshine  
On a cloudy day  
When it's cold outside  
I've got the month of May  
I guess you'd say  
What can make me feel this way  
Reviews Reviews Reviews  
Talkin' 'bout reviews  
Reviews  
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh!

On a different note, I also do not own the song _My Girl, _so please don't sue. But you can…review!


	3. The Chapter in Which There Is a Wardrobe

A/N: It was asked, and so I must do it: update The Stalker! And now, the moment you've all been waiting for…the Disclaimer!

Disclaimer: No thanks, I already have a penguin. (credit to Riddle, my beta, because she may well kill me if I don't. Betas are so fun.)

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The Stalker

Chapter Three

(This actually has a plot. I'm proud of myself.)

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Monica yawned once more_. Harry Potter has got to be the most boring juvenile delinquent in history_, she thought to herself.

An owl flew past her, scaring her and making her (once again) nearly fall out of the tree.

The owl was a gorgeous snowy white, and Harry got up off his bed when it flew into his room. He smiled at it.

"Hedwig, you're back! Did—oh," he said as he saw the parchment envelope attached to it's leg with a leather tie.

He untied the letter and the owl—Hedwig, supposedly—hooted and flew over to the birdcage—which Monica supposed was for it—while Harry opened the letter. He quickly scanned it, snorted derisively, and tossed the letter on his desk among the books (not one of the titles had his name in it).

"Oh, _sure, _that's nice for _them _to say, they didn't just inadvertently kill the only person they really cared about…" he muttered quietly. It was only because Monica had exceptional ears that she heard him. Of course, she wasn't quite sure, he might have said, "Oh, _sure_, that's nice for _him _to say, he didn't just kill his goldfish." But she wasn't sure.

Harry wandered over to the window and looked out of it. It is a testament to his observational skills how he _didn't _notice her, though he looked directly at her. His eyes scanned the street, and the dry lawns, and he sighed loudly. Someone on the street would have heard him. As it was, the two people who were following him were the only people who heard.

What's that? Only one person is following him, and that's Monica? That's ridiculous. At that very moment, there was an invisible member of the Order sitting in his slightly ajar wardrobe. Of course, Harry didn't know _where _she was, and Monica still had no idea that Harry was a wizard, or that an invisible someone might be following him, sitting in his wardrobe. She thought that only she was watching him, and she knew that she was sitting in the tree outside his house, not in his wardrobe. Or she might have drunk some odd tea at school and this was all a hallucination she was having in early April, lying in a hospital bed in a coma. But she didn't think that comas were that incurably boring, so she was going to go with the former. And she was right, because why on earth would I be writing a story about her coma hallucinations? Come on, people.

Old Mrs. Figg from a few streets over came shuffling along the walk in front of the Dursley's house. Monica was highly suspicious of Mrs. Figg. No one could possibly have that many cats and not be up to something. The woman had eighteen, for Pete's sake! Or maybe, they had _her_, not the other way around, and they were using her as an instrument of impending destruction of the human race! Yes! Monica knew that she had finally figured it out!

While Monica's theories though odd, are usually correct, this one was so far off, it wasn't even funny. Little did she know that…wait, why does Mrs. Figg have so many cats? And why is it called Mr. Tibbles, anyway? Is it married to Mrs. Norris? Perhaps Monica is right about old Figgy…

Anyway, Mrs. Figg came shuffling along the walk on Privet Drive. As she passed Number Four, she looked right past Monica to Harry's window and waved. Harry gave a half-hearted mile and waved back.

Monica had to stifle yet another yawn. If he didn't do something soon, she'd have to go home and eat dinner.

As Harry watched Mrs. Figg's receding back turn the corner at the end of the street, he suddenly left his room again. Monica noticed that he held open the door a moment longer than normal and the wardrobe door opened a little before Harry closed it and left.

A minute later, Harry walked out the front door and headed off the street, the other way from where Mrs. Figg had gone, in the direction of the park. She waited until he was at the end of the street to begin down the tree. She walked slowly after him all the way to the park, staying in the shadows behind trees. Once, she hid behind a light pole, though it didn't conceal her too well.

When he arrived at the park, Harry sat down on the bottom of the slide, because all the swings were broken, thanks to Dudley and his gang. Since there was nowhere else to hide, Monica scampered up a half-dead tree, which didn't offer much concealment and was in plain sight, but given Harry's observational skills, she decided she could risk it.

The invisible Order member that was following him, however, saw Monica. Unable to do anything else, she crept slowly from the grass across the sand to the slide where Harry was sitting. Monica didn't notice the magically appearing footprints in the sand, as she was busy scratching some dirt off her right shoe.

The invisible Order member that was trailing Harry reached him without incident and whispered in his ear to look at the tree where Monica was perched. He did so, and gasped in surprise when he saw her. Monica looked up quickly and calmly said, "Oh, hello. Nice day." She had rapidly decided that acting as if everything was normal would be the best course of action.

"What are you doing?" said Harry warily.

"Oh, I'm stalking you," she said matter-of-factly.

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A/N: It's so fun to write this. Especially Monica's little theories. I really love this story. It even has a plot! Anyhoo, please review, else I compose another song or haiku for the cause!


	4. The Chapter in Which There Is Dialouge

A/N: I left you guys a cliff-hanger, so I figured I should update pretty quickly. And I have. So ha.

Disclaimer: Blah blah don't own blah JK Rowling blah blah blah blah monkey blah Paul.

I sincerely hope you didn't understand that, because if you did, you need serious help.

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The Stalker

Chapter Four

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_When we last saw Monica...__  
_"What are you doing?" asked Harry warily.

"Oh, I'm stalking you," she said matter-of-factly.  
_Insert commercial break here._

"What?" Harry said flatly.

"What, don't believe me?" Monica said indignantly. "Fine; I'm actually an evil follower of an evil wizard who is out for your blood and everyone is afraid to even say his name. Here, I have proof: at the end of your last school year, he lured you to a secret government agency and killed...ah, your godfather. Your school headmaster then told you about a prophecy that said that you have to kill my evil wizard master. Oh, and you had a really horrible teacher last year who almost prevented you from coming and thus nearly ruining my master's entire plan."

Harry gaped at her, for little did Monica know that her theory was entirely plausible. And, indeed, for the most part, entirely correct. Except for the whole her working for Voldemort thing, which is utter codswallop, because, one, Voldemort would never employ a Muggle, two, Monica is underage, and three, somewhere, a bell rang and an angel got its wings.

Harry was completely stunned. Any decent agent of evil would never have revealed all that, unless they were about to kill him. But in any case, this girl looked completely insane, so she probably wasn't going to kill him at all and was just randomly revealing evil secrets.

Monica noticed this, but didn't say anything. She wanted to know how he'd react to something as obviously made up as that. Little did Monica know that he was trying to figure out the best spell to use to stall her so he could run away, back to his safe little house. And little did Harry know that she actually was making it all up, but getting facts eerily accurately close to his life.

Harry made up his mind and pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Leave now and I won't hurt you!" In his head, Harry was thinking, _Oh, wow, Harry, can you get any stupider? Like she's going to listen. Wait a minute, doesn't that girl live over by Mrs. Figg?_

"Woah, now, Harry, I was kidding." The invisible Order member following Harry relaxed. It didn't look as if this girl actually was a follower of Voldemort. If she were, she would have been a lot more sneaky and called him "Potter", not "Harry". Hell, even Snape called him Potter, and Snape was supposedly on their side.

"And what are you going to do with that stick?" Monica looked at it worriedly. "Maybe you are deranged. I don't like the look of that stick. Though, at least it's not thick enough to really do any damage. I mean, you really couldn't, say, molest—" Harry cut off her ramblings.

He said confusedly, "Wait, what were you kidding about, now?"

"Huh?" said Monica. She would have thought that was obvious. "The working for an evil wizard thing, of course."

"So you really are stalking me?" Harry asked, now completely lost. He was under the impression that stalkers didn't tell anyone that they were stalking someone.

"Well, yeah. And I'm doing it blatantly and obviously, so that no one will notice," she told him, deciding that if she could just get him a little more confused, he'd toss her off as completely crazy and would discount everything she said as insane ramblings, just like her teachers at school.

"You confuse me," said Harry. "What's your name?"

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A/N: I am so lovin' on the cliff-hangers lately. Big thanks to my reviewers! Monica reminds almost everyone of someone they know, which is somewhat disturbing.

Please review, because I'd like to know what you think, whether you like it, hate it, think I should be committed, whatever. If you guys don't start reviewing more, I'll write a poem or song. So it's really in your best interests to tell me what you thought, huh?


	5. The Chapter in Which There Is Meatloaf

A/N: This story is completely pointless. But 1) I love it and 2) It's hilarious. And it has a plot, always a plus with me, the Plotless Wonder.

Random Note: My name is not Sophie. That's someone else. My name is Art Garfunkel. No, wait, that's someone else, too. Dammit.

Disclaimer: Isn't funny how "plagarism" always looks like it's spelled wrong?

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The Stalker

Chapter Five  
  
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_Previously, on The Stalker..._

"Well, yeah. And I'm doing it blatantly and obviously, so that no one will notice," she told him, deciding that if she could just get him a little more confused, he'd toss her off as completely crazy and would discount everything she said as insane ramblings, just like her teachers at school.

"You confuse me," said Harry. "What's your name?"  
_Insert commercial break here._

Monica blinked. "Huh?" she asked dumbly.

_Well, _thought Harry, _at least I don't have anyone intelligent stalking me. _"What's your name?" he asked again.

"Monica," said the one named such. "I didn't answer the first time because I could swear that I had misheard you, in case you were wondering. I'm not an idiot."

_Wow, I sure feel like one now, though, _thought Harry. "Well, then, would you mind getting down from that tree? It's not very easy to talk to you when you're up there," Harry said aloud. And it's a good thing, too, because she wouldn't have been able to hear him if he'd said it in his head.

"Shh!" said Monica. "I can't come down! If I do, people will be able to tell I'm stalking you." She looked over Harry's shoulder, directly at the invisble Order member who was following him as she tried to sneak back onto the grass. "Hey, what's that?" Harry looked where she was looking. The color drained out of his face.

"N--what? There's nothing there. Nothing at all. And certainly not an invisible person following me around to protect me!" Harry quickly told her. _Nice cover-up, Harry! _the invisible Order member thought. Monica, being a Muggle, believed him and didn't find that at all suspicious.

Yeah right.

Monica looked at him suspiciously. She was starting to think that he maybe actually was deranged. "Riiiiiight. Well, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps you could, oh say, stop talking to me so I can stalk you some more before dinner? It's already dark, and my mom's cooking meatloaf tonight," she told him.

Harry blinked, confused once more. "Er, sure. So I'll just go back to what I was doing then." He walked back over to the slide and sat down. He hadn't been this confused all summer. Maybe having a stalker was a good thing. It had completely taken his mind off Sirius--oh great. Back to square one.

The invisible Order member following Harry was holding back laughter. This Monica girl reminded her of herself at that age. Okay, at any age. But still. She was very amusing. Too bad she wasn't a witch. Albus probably would have liked to teach this girl. _I wonder what house she would have been in?_ the invisible Order member mused. If only she knew more about this Monica girl. Oh well. She was stalking Harry blatantly and obviously, so she'd probably get a chance to learn some more on her shifts.

Monica settled back into the tree. She was going to have to eat her meatloaf cold unless he got back to his house soon. He'd notice for sure if she went home now.

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A/N: You've forced me to do this, you know.

Reviews make my day  
I love them something fierce  
Reviews are not like Hay  
Nor like rapierce  
Reviews are really fun  
And encourage me to write more  
So review, dammit!  
It's not like it's a chore.

I should publish that.


	6. The Chapter in Which There Is Mark Evans

A/N: Another day, another chapter. One more before school starts, and I pretty much drop off the face of the planet. Been nice knowing you. (that was a joke, people) By the way, since she bought me and I am officially a paid-for fangirl, go check out all of the Duchess of Inkling's fanfiction. Not only is she great, she owns me. So go! Now! (after you're done with this chapter, of course)

Disclaimer: How do you mean commas are my friends?

The Stalker

Chapter Six

Monica sat staring at Harry for a while. She was perfectly happy to be doing so, but he seemed rather disturbed about it. To be honest, he was so incredibly creeped out, it would have been a relief to get attacked by Dementors or the like.

After a few minutes of being creeped out to a level that is beyond belief, Harry decided to go home so he could stop being scared. And so Monica (if that was her _real_ name) could have her meatloaf warm.

Harry got up and started walking back to the Dursley's, hoping that they weren't home yet. They'd do that fake-worry thing, pretending like they cared in case the Order had the house bugged. Of course, the Order didn't have anything of the sort, only the invisible Order member, who was smart enough to know the difference between actual-caring and Oh-my-I-hope-you're-okay-so-we-don't-get-accused-of-negligence-caring.

Monica waited a safe amount of time before following, noting to herself that the sun was setting. She needed to get home soon, or her meatloaf would be colder than her old boyfriend. Ooh, backstory.

Later. Right now, we must see Harry and then Monica home.

Harry was about half a block ahead of her as she followed him, still dodging between trees and light-poles although he already knew she was stalking him. She was leering at him in a most blatant and obvious fashion so as not to be suspicious.

Harry walked up the mercifully still-empty driveway, the invisible Order member following close behind, Monica hiding behind the light-pole at the end of the driveway as he closed the door behind him. As soon as he did so Monica dashed for the tree, being very obvious and loud as she climbed up to the branch that had the best view of his room. He opened the door to his room just as she was settling in. He couldn't see her, so he assumed she had gone home. How very wrong he was.

Ten minutes passed with not so much as a peep from either of them. Finally, Monica called to him, "What time is it?"

It seemed to Monica that he jumped at least six inches and that there was muffled laughter coming from his wardrobe. "What?" he exclaimed, looking around wildly.

"Hello?" Monica called. "I asked what time it is! I thought you were supposed to be wily, not stupid!" Monica was getting slightly impatient.

"Er," said Harry as he checked Dudley's old watch, which was his new one. "It's ten minutes til seven."

"Damn!" exclaimed Monica as she flew down the tree and to her house.

Well, thought Harry, that was strange. I wonder if all stalkers are as crazy and blatant as mine?

It was the end of Tonks's shift. And ooh, boy, would she have a time telling everyone what had happened to Harry today. Tonks heard the pop on the other side of the room that signaled that Mundungus was here. With a very loud pop of her own, the wardrobe was free of any Invisible Order members.

Monica ran home to her house and her meatloaf, cursing her lack of ability to not lose her watch. She should have been paying more attention, she thought as the sun glimmered above the horizon, hesitating to set completely.

She burst through the door of her house, out of breath.

"Close the door, dear," her father said from the couch. She complied.

"Is there any meatloaf left?" she gasped.

"Yes Monica, it's in the microwave," Mr. Evans told his eldest child.

"Thank you, Dad," she said and dashed into the kitchen. Her meatloaf was still warm. She would sleep well tonight. Unless Mark slipped Mountain Dew into her tea again.

A/N: Well, Monica got her meatloaf. Aren't you all happy that the suspense is over?

I value your opinions. I covet your reviews. I like being told when I screw up so I can make sure to never do it again. SO PLEASE REVIEW. That is all.


	7. The Chapter in Which There is Tonks

A/N: Finally, time on the computer without any remaining homework. Thus, I decided to write the next chapter of The Stalker. Don't you love me?

No one noticed the backstory. I weep.

Disclaimer: Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, e'er the other side he see.

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The Stalker

Chapter Seven

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Tonks Apparated into the safe place that the Order had agreed upon, and hurried to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

She ran up to the door as soon as it appeared and knocked quietly. The door opened immediately. Fred Weasley's face appeared, shortly followed by his twin George's.

"Tonks!" said Fred. "Glad you're back."

"Anything exciting happen today?" George asked, as he always did.

"Actually," said Tonks, "something did." The Twins' faces lit up. "But I won't tell you until you let me in, boys," she said pointedly.

"Oh," said George. He and Fred quickly backed away from the door and let the plain looking (for once) Tonks in.

"Let's go to the kitchen, boys," she said. "I get the feeling everyone else will want—and possibly need—to hear this, too." They agreed, and she led the way.

"Hello, Tonks," Remus said without enthusiasm.

"Oh, Tonks!" Molly said as she heard Remus's greeting. "How was it? He stayed safe, right?"

Tonks grinned. "No, Molly, I let him die." Molly looked mortified. "Kidding, kidding!" Tonks hastily assured her. "Actually, though, something did happen." Everyone in the kitchen perked up. "He appears to have a new hanger-on."

Everyone looked confused, except for Molly, who immediately said, "oh, it's about time he got himself a girlfriend, the poor boy has got to be lonely enough, what with—erm," she cast a look a Remus, "recent events. I mean, he's—"

"Molly!" Tonks interrupted her. "She's not a girlfriend. At least," she grinned, "that's not exactly what I would call her." Everyone looked bemused.

Kingsley asked, "Then what would you call it, Tonks?"

"A stalker," Tonks said simply.

An uproar broke out in the kitchen. "No fair!" shouted the twins in unison. "Do you think she could be an agent of You-know-Who?" asked Molly. "Is she dangerous?" asked a now very alert Remus. "Why is she there?" squeaked a visibly nervous Emmeline Vance.

"Quiet!" boomed Kingsley in that voice of his. The noise subsided.

"Now," said Kingsley, "perhaps Tonks should tell us from the beginning exactly what she means."

"Well," said Tonks, "as you know, I was on duty tonight. I was sitting in the wardrobe—Harry was on the bed, and his chair is full of clothes again, he's a right old slob nowadays—when I see a girl quietly climb the tree in front of his window. Well, it's not in _front_ of the window, but you know the tree I mean, and she climbs up it. Actually, she wasn't so quiet—she was being quite blatant and obvious, but no one noticed. And this girl looks weird, and I mean _weird_, because her eyes have this weird quality to them, and I don't think she has any eyelashes, and her red hair stood out against the green and brown of the tree.

"So anyway, she sits there for at least two hours, and he hardly moves, but he's not asleep, and I know that, but I don't see how this girl could know, then Harry's uncle comes in. He tells Harry they're leaving, and almost tells him not to steal food, then realizes his mistake and tells him to make his own dinner.

"As Dursley is leaving, he looks _right at_ the girl, then walks out of the room like he hadn't seen anything."

"Probably didn't," muttered Remus.

"You're most likely right," Tonks agreed. "So, after the Dursleys leave, Harry goes to make himself a sandwich, and when we get back, the girl is still there. After a while, Harry gets up to go to the park—"

"You let him go to the park?" Molly asked. "He's not to leave the house."

"Molly," Tonks said cajolingly, "if he stays in the house all the time, he'll go mad. I was there, and it wasn't dark, so I figured I'd let him go. Besides, he knows how to be careful. And with all the cloaking spells we have on him, I doubt that map of his could find him."

"Tonks!" Remus said, exasperated.

"What map?" asked Molly suspiciously.

"Nothing!" said Tonks. "I didn't mean anything by that! It was, er, a, erm, metaphor! Yeah, yeah, a metaphor for, uh...life." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, he goes to the park. The girl is following us—him—the whole time, but he doesn't see her, because she keeps ducking behind trash bins and hiding in the most obvious of places.

"We get to the park, and Harry sits on the edge of the slide, and the crazy girl climbs this dead tree in plain sight and just sits there. She starts picking at her shoes, and I figure this has gone far enough, so I sneak over to Harry and whisper to him to look at the tree.

"Well, he does, and he gets really surprised. So he asks her what she's doing, and she says 'Stalking you,' so he asks her her name, and she tells him 'Monica', and he starts _talking _to her, like a friend or something." Fred and George snorted. "And he goes and sits back down. And she asks him to hurry up and go home so she can eat her _meatloaf._" Emmeline made a noise of disbelief. "I'm _honest!_" Tonks told her. "She's a freak, I'm tellin' you. So he goes home, and she climbs back up in the tree. Ten minutes later, she asks him what time it was, and he tells her, and she swears and scrambles down the tree and starts running towards Figg's house."

"Must be where she lives," said Kingsley sensibly.

Tonks nodded. "Naturally. But then my shift ends, and I hear Mundungus show up, so I popped back here."

The kitchen was quiet.

"Do you think she's dangerous?" Fred asked curiously.

"Now, that's the strange thing," Tonks said. "There's no way she could be, even though she gave an eerily accurate description of Harry's last year. Honest, the girl's creepy. One, she lives in Little Whinging, and she's about Harry's age, so she's got to be a Muggle. You could check with the Ministry, but she's not a witch, I'm sure. Too bad," she added, "Albus would like her."

"Wait," asked Emmeline. "What do you mean, she gave an eerily accurate description of last year?"

Tonks related to the kitchen what Monica had told Harry in her sarcasm. "She's not so good with sarcasm," she mused.

"Man," complained George, "all the cool stuff happens to Harry."

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A/N: No one notices my attempts at subtlety! Perhaps I should get more blatant and obvious.

Again, I like reviews. Someone has asked for me to stop the poems and songs, but really, I need to know what you think! I'll have to write another haiku if you don't please tell me what you think. Besides, I'm on a haiku bent. Writing them from Sirius and Florence's POVs gets kind of hampering on my creativity.


	8. The Chapter in Which There Is Eggs

A/N: Sick today. See my LiveJournal for details. Thus, as a result of my terrible boredom upon being home alone all day with nothing to do, I decided to write this, the eighth chapter of The Stalker. Which is how and why you're reading this.

Disclaimer: What the crap kind of music is this?

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The Stalker

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It was now _the next day,_ meaning it was the day after the day which the previous eight chapters have been chronicling in which Monica begins to stalk Harry Potter, and in which Tonks laughs hysterically and tells a story worse than I do to the Order, who all promptly _wig out_, but none of this really matters unless you haven't read the previous eight chapters in which Monica begins to stalk Harry Potter, et cetera, et cetera, but if you haven't read those chapters, I suggest you go back at this very moment and correct your grievous mistake.

In any case, it was now _the next day_, and, I am pleased to report, Monica did indeed get a good night's sleep as her younger brother by five years did not sleep at home that night, but instead at a friend's house. How Kevin's parents could stand Mark was very puzzling to Monica, but at the moment, she wasn't concerned with that. In fact, she wasn't particularly concerned with anything right at the moment. Except for food. You see, the mornings after she ate meatloaf, Monica was always ravenous. Of course, the fact that she wasn't a morning person didn't help, either, and nor did the fact that she was a bit odd in the head. As a result of that all, the mornings after Monica had meatloaf for dinner were similar in a number of ways to a hurricane blowing through a small village built with straw. That is, chaotic and running into walls. Mr. Evans always left for work early Meatloaf Mornings, as they came to be called, and Mrs. Evans woke up early to do gardening on those days. Thus it was that the Evanses did not have meatloaf often, regardless of the fact that they all enjoyed it immensely.

Monica stumbled down the hall, three-quarters asleep, but awake enough to know that she had to have fooood. NOW. She ran into a wall, and crawled down the stairs. She tripped down the last five, and landed on her feet, amazingly. All those years of meatloaf had really paid off. She meandered clumsily through the kitchen door and sat down at the table, where there was a stone-cold breakfast feast waiting. She immediately began to scarf down all the food on the table; kippers, toast, marmalade and jam (though not together, she tended to put them on the toast), bacon, poached eggs, sunny-side-up eggs, deviled eggs (her mother had an innate fondness for anything with the word "vile" in it—don't ask), sausages, cereal, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles, ten different flavors of syrup, and, most importantly, a huge pitcher of orange juice.

Nearly an hour later, after Monica had polished off all—or nearly all—of the food on the table, she cleared the dishes, put them in the sink, and trudged up the stairs to take a shower.

A further hour after that, Monica was skipping gloriously wet-haired down Privet Drive, anticipating another boring yet slightly amusing day of stalking the neighborhood delinquent. She reasoned that he was far more interesting—and less dangerous—than his cousin, the neighborhood gang leader. She climbed obviously up the droopy, dying, water-starved tree, and settled onto her branch from yesterday, whistling brightly Beethoven's Fifth. This may be slightly after the fact, but Monica is a rather odd girl.

Of course, as it was sweltering, Harry's window was open, though it was only eleven o' clock, and he did not appear to be awake. Also, his wardrobe door was slightly open again. _Doesn't he know how to close a door? _Monica thought. _What, was he raised in a barn or something?_ She took a closer look at the rest of the house and thought about the Dursleys. _Suppose he was, then._

As it turned out, Harry was awake, and shortly after Monica arrived, his Aunt Petunia called up the stairs in her screechy voice, "You have a visitor, bo—Harry!" Monica looked bewildered. No one had come up the street in the ten minutes she was sitting there.

Harry opened his door and left his room. Monica snapped loudly as a way to replace an expletive.

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It seems I am fond of innately bad endings.

As always, review, bitches!

...I mean, please review, darling readers, lest I get...er, the vapors.

...?


	9. The Chapter in Which There is a Trellis

A/N: I'm beginning to think I may procrastinate. Just a little. But honestly, it has been seven months. When I've been missing for that long, send a search party! Also: I actually printed out the entire story of The Stalker, and, in case you were wondering, it is only sixteen printed pages long. Not counting this chapter. (Which is totally going to be nine pages long. …okay, maybe not.) For all the time I've kept you lot hanging, this is disappointingly short. Huh.

Disclaimer: Insert witty and nonsensical thing here.

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The Stalker

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_Previously, on The Stalker_

There was lots of explanation and backstory, which I'm sure you don't want to hear again, so I'll just skip it, at the beginning and middle of the chapter—though, amazingly, not so much at the end. Monica took a shower—gasp!--and walked down the street with wet hair, and climbed a tree, all while whistling Beethoven's Fifth! She sat in the tree outside Harry's window for ten minutes, thinking he was asleep, only to find that he wasn't! _Dun dun dunn!_ His Aunt Petunia—who wasn't really a petunia, but a daisy in disguise—called up the stairs for him that he had a visitor—but Monica hadn't seen anyone even on the street, let alone at the door! And the door wasn't even open! Monica swore loudly—by which I mean she snapped loudly, so as to keep very little swearing in this story, because I don't want it to sound like real life.

_Now, back to the story…_

Monica blinked. A visitor! How would that work? The door was closed, and no one had come down the street and—the back door! But what kind of visitor would use the back door? No matter, she told herself, I'll check it out regardless. Except that she didn't actually think the word "regardless", it was really more like "reopelkdjiss", because Monica actually thinks in an alien language.

I mean. She's completely normal. And not strange at all.

In any case, she jumped—or shimmied—down the tree, and ran—obviously and blatantly—around the house to listen at the back kitchen door. She briefly considered peeking in the window, but decided that might be just a little too obvious, and settled in on the ground.

After thirty seconds or so of silence, Monica decided that the kitchen probably was not where the conversation was taking place. So she snuck through the door, very loudly, so as not to arouse suspicion. She crept through the curiously unlocked door and listened by the kitchen door that lead into the hall. A further thirty second silence, and Monica decided to listen at the door that lead into the living room.

"So sorry to bother you," an unfamiliar voice was saying, "—and to pop in like this—sorry about the vase, by the way—but it's rather important." The Dursleys said nothing. "Ah, well, Harry, could I talk to you in your room?" Curses! Monica thought, because she was clearly unhinged and thought random things like that. She quickly ran back out of the kitchen, around the house, and scampered up the tree like a squirrel. She settled in just as Harry and a woman with curly auburn hair came into the room. The woman looked straight at Monica and winked as she held the door open for the invisible Order member that was on duty today—Emmeline Vance, actually—though Monica didn't know that and thought the woman was being strange, by holding the door open for nothing.

Maybe she has an imaginary friend, Monica thought distractedly as she winked back at the woman, who gave a small smile and turned to Harry.

Of course, Harry didn't notice any of this and just offered the woman a seat on his bed.

"So, Harry," the woman said, "any problems with the Dursleys?" Harry shook his head. "Didn't think so. So, do you think your stalker is any problem?"

Harry looked at her funny, confused. "Wha—I thought you guys were the security here."

The woman shook her head. "Not on this one. Your call. We think she's too funny to get rid of, so unless you mind her, she'll be staying."

Harry looked bewildered. "Er, she's fine, I guess."

The woman nodded and got up. "I'll show myself out then," she said on her way to the door. She stopped and whispered to Harry, "What's her name again?"

Harry looked even more confused, if that was even possible, and whispered back, "Monica."

The woman nodded and walked the rest of the way to the door. "Wotcher, Monica," she said as she opened the door. She winked at Monica again as she closed it behind her, saying, "Bye, Harry."

"Bye Tonks." There was a loud popping sound, and Harry opened the door and called downstairs, "She's gone."

Now Monica was almost as confused as Harry. Not only had this woman—Tonks—seen her, she'd winked at her twice and greeted her. Harry had called to his family that the person leaving the house, presumably by going downstairs, as it seems unlikely she'd go out through the bathroom window, was gone, and to top it all off, she had broken a nail sometime in the last ten minutes.

Harry looked out the window for her. He looked slightly surprised when he saw her and she waved. He looked even more surprised when she talked to him. "So," she said, "who was that?"

"Er, a friend of my—erm, best friend's parents," he told her.

"Ah," said Monica. "That doesn't sound like the kind of person to invite to your room." Harry looked confused.

"I can't hear you."

"Well, I can't very well shout, can I? Then people would think I was your friend instead of your stalker," she told him in a well-duh-that-was-obvious-it's-not-like-this-is-weird-or-strange-or-anything.

"Right," said Harry. "So what did you say?"

Monica sighed. "Hang on." She climbed back down the tree, grabbed a trellis from the dying garden, and hauled it over to Harry's window. Luckily, there were no plants on it, as they had all died the previous summer and Aunt Petunia hadn't gotten around to replanting them—or, more likely, having Harry replant them—as they would just have died and looked ugly anyway. Monica climbed the trellis, which swayed precariously, but didn't give, up to Harry's window. "I _said_, 'That doesn't sound like the kind of person to invite to your room.'"

Harry blinked. "Why not? And, isn't that a little obvious?"

Monica looked down the street. "To who? You?" She shook her head and laughed a little. "Not likely. And because your best friend's parents' friend doesn't sound close enough to come to your house, let alone your room."

Harry looked away. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

Monica rolled her eyes. "What, are you two involved in an illegal relationship that no one knows about?"

Harry choked and looked back at her. "_What?_ What are you _on?_"

Monica promptly replied, "Opera crack." Harry couldn't help himself. He actually laughed a little at that, albeit a little woodenly. Monica smirked. "Well, if you don't tell me, I'll find out anyway. That's kind of what's implied in the whole stalker business." Harry nodded.

"Mrs. Figg is coming around the far corner, by the way," he told her. Monica's eyes widened, and she jumped down the trellis and crawled behind it. She's crazy, thought Harry. That is not going to hide her.

Monica curled behind the trellis, peeking out through the holes. Mrs. Figg walked right by the house, waved to Harry, noticed that the trellis was moved, and stubbed her toe, all without seeing Monica, who was hiding so badly it didn't deserve to be called hiding. As soon as Mrs. Figg was around the corner of the street, Monica looked up at Harry's window. She grinned and said, "Now do you see why I won't get caught?"

Harry just shook his head. After all, what can he say to something like that? She clearly won't get caught.

Monica climbed back up the trellis. "So, what's up with that Tonks lady? If you're not having an illegal affair, then what is it? Anything criminal? Anything to do with that evil wizard I'm not actually working for?"

Harry was silent.

Monica glared at him. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that. I may be crazy, but I am not dumb. That's nonsense. I made that entire story up, and if you expect me to believe that, then you've clearly underestimated me." She climbed back down the trellis and up the tree once more. She sat there, arms crossed, glaring at him for a good three minutes, before calling out, "What time is it?"

Harry, who figures he should get used to it by now, called back, "A couple of minutes after noon."

Monica's eyes widened and she practically flew out of the tree. "Late!" was the only thing she said.

Harry shook his head as she ran towards the end of the street. _Crazy. Flat-out mad._

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A/N: The end of another chapter. I am sorry, my sweets, but I must go! However, a quick note: I highly doubt there will be any pairings at all in this story, though I may make fun of a few. Now, just because I make fun of it or allude to it doesn't mean anything either way. Also: I most likely won't put something in the story that you ask for, though suggestions are welcome. I have only a vague idea where I'm going with this.

But to answer one person's question, yes, there will be more Tonks.


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